The Pianist
by Revontuli
Summary: Edward starts taking piano lessons from the master among pianists -- a grandiose, though slightly eccentric vampire. Time, however, shows that music isn't all this man is involved in. He has something else up his sleeve. Something... Romanian?
1. The Apprehension

A nervous shifting from one foot to the other, a stare at nothing particular, a slight fumbling of the fingers…

"You aren't _nervous_, are you?"

My husband jumped up at the sound of my voice and quickly conjured a smile onto his picture perfect face. "Maybe a little."

I breathed out skeptically, amused that _he_ would be nervous about anything that involved his music. No other man – or vampire – could compete with the way his fingers glided over the piano keys to weave a flawless piece of art.

"This man must be very special."

"He is," Edward answered, now falling back to his nervous state, "He's the best."

I huffed again and took one of his white hands between my pale fingers. "Better than you? I highly doubt that."

My words managed to bring him out of his dreamy state again, and he surprised me by locking my gaze with his suddenly serious eyes, a look of utter worship crossing over his face. "Bella, Vladislav Gerasymenko has centuries of experience that I can only dream of. He has devoted his entire life to music. There is no comparison between us."

Taken aback by his abrupt change of countenance, I let his hand drop and settled to waiting in peace.

I couldn't understand Edward's apprehension. In all the decades I'd known him, he had never reacted this way to someone before. This Vladislav Gerasymenko seemed to be a very important person, for he was all Edward had talked about for weeks – I could only listen patiently as he went on and on about the different songs he had interpreted on the piano and the hundreds of symphonies that humans still listened to after all these centuries.

This idolization had all started the month before. We'd moved to Germany for a little change of scenery and were happily integrating ourselves in the local school and city life. All had been fine for the following months after our relocation, happy and normal – and then Vladislav Gerasymenko entered our lives.

He was, as Edward had explained to me, the most famous "underground" piano player the world had ever seen. As a vampire, he had the necessary time to practice – as well as the essential sharpened skills that the transformation granted. He now mastered his playing without blemish and toured around the entire world. Every now and then he chose one lucky pupil among the hundreds of musical vampires to pass on his acquired knowledge to.

And Edward had always been blessed with good fortune.

"We're very proud of you, Edward," Esme encouraged him, "I always knew you were gifted."

The rest of the family nodded in agreement, all but one – the blond vampire standing on the highest step of the flight of stairs. I couldn't hear her thoughts, but her face said it all – Rosalie was, once again, jealous of the only man who could compete with her beauty and skills.

"He'll be here in thirty seconds," Alice called from the front hall.

Edward took a deep breath.

"I know. I can hear him."

Frustrated by his needless unease, I sighed and took his hand back in mine. "You'll do fine, dear. I know you will. You're the most talented pianist I've ever met."

"Until now…"

The whole room groaned in unison.

"It's hardly polite that you should react this way each time your family tries to comfort you. You're good, and you _know_ it. I see everything going just fine."

Edward didn't answer, but swiftly jumped up and ran to the front entrance. He shot us all one last tense look, and turned the knob of the door.

"Good afternoon. Do I have the honor of speaking to Mr. Edward Cullen?"

The man standing on the porch erased all my amusement about Edward's nervousness.

I could easily understand why Edward would fear him - Vladislav Gerasymenko stood there in complete ease, not seeming to notice the unnatural silence in the house. His powdery skin stretched tightly across his skinny frame, each bone clearly visible through the almost translucent pallor. The contrast of his skin to his dark hair was near comical; the short beard and trimmed hair gave him a look that dated back several years. His stylish, black suit only added to that turn-of-the-century appearance.

Edward welcomed him with utmost respect. "Good afternoon, Sir. Yes, you are speaking to Edward Cullen."

The two men had entered the living room before any of us had the time to exchange looks and were now gazing over the rest of the family – one for reassurance, the other for inspection.

"A pleasure. And this, I assume, is your wife Isabella? Good afternoon, my lady."

I smiled timidly at his old-fashioned greeting and offered him my hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Gerasymenko."

"Professor. Ah, but my dear lady," he started, not accepting my outstretched hand, "That is no way for a woman to respond to a greeting. In my youth, women would curtsey when introduced to an older man."

The room fell into silence again, my family looking away while I imagined myself turning bright red – and thanking God that I couldn't anymore.

Edward appeared by my side a few seconds too late, apparently not quite knowing what to say, either. "Excuse her, Sir. We were all born into a different era."

The pianist chuckled and reached to grip my still extended hand. "Of course. Excuse my little joke. It is a great pleasure to meet such a beautiful creature, Mrs. Cullen."

I forced a giggle and turned my eyes to the ground as soon as I could, not entirely convinced that this stern-looking man had been joking.

Professor Gerasymenko was introduced to the rest of the family and was then seated on a chair beside the grand piano. He sat down elegantly and motioned for Edward to begin, the latter needing a few moments to do so.

"No need to be nervous, Mr. Cullen. I have no expectations whatsoever. You cannot disappoint me."

Edward nodded, but didn't take his words to heart.

"What will you perform? Beethoven? Mozart? Bach?"

Gerasymenko nearly spit out the three names.

"No, Sir," Edward answered quietly, staring at the black and white piano keys.

"This song… is an own composition of mine."

I smiled.

The pianist showed no reaction. "Marvelous. Do begin."

Edward rubbed his hands together briefly, shot me one last look, and began.

The first few notes of my lullaby filled the air.

"We are so proud of you, Edward," Esme whispered in his ear while embracing her adopted son.

"You were fabulous!" Emmett threw him one of his huge grins.

"Well done," Carlisle congratulated him before leaving to the hospital.

"Fine, I'll say it – you were good. You… deserved this." Edward only nodded politely at Rosalie's astonishing honesty.

I waited for my turn patiently, knowing that I would want to congratulate him with more than just words.

Once everyone had left the room, I glided to Edward's side and wrapped my arms around his neck. "Congratulations."

"Thank you, love." Edward lowered his head to the level of my lips, but I pulled away before he had the time to kiss me. He frowned. "No prize for reaching my goal?"

"You have something in mind?"

"Hmm, I can think of _something_…"

I winked.

"I can arrange that."

* * *

The pale man circled his piano with elegant, long steps, only stopping every few seconds to play the first notes of the melody that was forming in his head.

His other hand was holding a cell phone to his ear as he listened to the low, anxious murmuring on the other end of the line.

"I assure you I gave them no cause for suspicion. You insult me with your mistrust."

The next notes shaped a chord; it harmonized perfectly with the previous melody.

"Isabella and Alice were there, as we expected. No, it was quite an interesting visit – Edward Cullen really is a splendid pianist. I am most pleased with my assignment."

He then played the two lines together, creating yet another beginning of a masterpiece to add to his wide collection. Yes, his music would never be outmatched by any earthly or heavenly force.

Did even heaven offer the level of pleasure that his melodies did?

And then _he_ dared to put his abilities in question.

Vladislav Gerasymenko snarled over the vivid tune.

"Vladimir, you mustn't doubt me."


	2. The Sayings

"Don't forget the pace, Edward! The pace!"

The strangest piano piece I'd ever heard echoed through the almost vacant house.

Ping-Pong-Ping-Pong...

"No, Edward! _The tempo!_ You're too slow!"

Edward increased his pace by a notch, the change hardly audible.

"Not too hasty, Edward. Slow down."

Nessie and I exchanged frustrated looks. By the look in her eyes I could tell we were both moments away from bursting into the living room to save Edward from the awful torture the professor was putting him through. They had been practicing the song for hours – and in the pianist's opinion, my husband still wasn't any closer to mastering the first twenty bars of it.

"I never said Ligeti would be easy to learn, Edward. _Accelerando!_"

Gyorgy Ligeti's 'Musica Ricercata' was certainly different to everything else Edward had ever played. Instead of the sweet, harmonious melody we usually heard from him, this piece sounded more like an earthquake rumbling in our very own living room.

The continuous tune was almost as horrible as Vladislav Gerasymenko's comments.

"_No, no, no!_ You must work on your rhythm skills, Edward. When I return tomorrow, I'm expecting a tremendous improvement. Please don't make me waste my time."

The music – or earthquake – finally ended, and my daughter and I heard both Edward and his teacher jump to their feet.

"Naturally. I will practice, Sir."

I, too, leapt to my feet and bounded downstairs. All my instincts were pushing me forwards to protect my husband from the stranger in our hall; I almost sighed in relief when the two men came into view.

The look on Edward's face made me want to tear the professor apart. He was biting his lip down unconsciously, looking troubled and thoroughly humiliated. When I finally reached his side, I wrapped my arms around his waist and gave him a short peck on the cheek.

He needed the encouragement.

"Ah, good morning, Mrs. Cullen. I hope you can excuse my snatching your husband for these few hours."

I looked up at the despicable vampire and gave him the most polite smile I could muster, fighting the urge to growl at him instead.

"Not at all, Professor Gerasymenko. I can only be _grateful_ for the chance you are giving my husband. It truly means a lot to him."

The sarcasm in my voice had not been intended. Edward shot me a warning look while I heard Nessie hold back a giggle in the bedroom upstairs.

"Indeed," the pianist answered, looking at me in a most peculiar way. When our eyes met, the smile on his face grew more pronounced.

"I'm sure it does. Good day, Mrs. Cullen. Remember to practice, Edward."

Vladislav Gerasymenko left the house without a further word, and glided gracefully over our spotless lawn to his waiting car.

I shuddered - The smile on his face had been almost disturbing.

As soon as he was out of hearing range, Edward turned to me and gave me one of his annoyed looks.

"Please, Bella. That man is a genius. You need to show some more respect."

I let go of his waist and huffed. "Sure. A genius. What happened to 'Mr. Cullen', by the way?"

Edward didn't seem to notice that my question was mostly rhetorical.

"I'm his pupil. He has no reason to call me by my surname. Besides, there are too many Mr. Cullens in this household. Calling us all the same would be confusing."

Nessie appeared on the upper staircase as he talked, and rolled her eyes at his feeble excuse. "He still found the need to call Mum 'Mrs. Cullen'. Now _that_ wouldn't be confusing at all."

"He was just being respectful."

"And he couldn't respect _you_?" I fell back onto the white sofa beside the grand piano, relishing the silence that had finally replaced the awful music piece.

"He treated you like some dim-witted schoolboy."

The disheartened look reappeared on Edward's face as he sat down opposite me. He crossed his arms in defeat.

"For him, I probably _am_ just a dim-witted schoolboy."

Nessie groaned at his self-pity, but my heart was shattered by his dismayed spirits. I had never seen him so unsure of himself and his skills, especially when it came to music. So I crept to his side and placed my head to his chest, consoling him the best way I could.

"You were great. He really had no reason to insult you like that. Vladislav Gerasymenko is just an arrogant, malicious man who has nothing better to do in life than to bring down talented pianists."

Edward accepted my touch, but didn't agree to my words.

"Professor Gerasymenko is a little eccentric, I'll admit. That's precisely why he's the best. I know his methods of teaching are… a little unusual, but that's only because he's so passionate about what he does. All he has is his music."

I lifted my chin to look Edward straight in the eye.

"Well, you have more than just your music, don't you? You don't have to be a bitter, old man to be the best."

Nessie looked away, embarrassed by the way her father was stroking her mother's face. She knew they loved each other, but did they really need to be so obvious about it in front of their daughter?

Picking up the magazine she was reading, Nessie ran back upstairs to continue waiting for Jacob to return from his trip with the rest of the Cullens. Then _she_ could make out with him just as much as she knew her parents were doing downstairs at the very moment.

No, she had to think of something else before she puked.

Vladislav Gerasymenko – what a strange man he was. There was something about the dull gleam in his eyes that made her extremely nervous, especially while he was around her mother.

"Mrs. Cullen," she murmured, "Hmph!"

* * *

The flawless, melodramatic melody was rudely interrupted by the ring of his phone.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Vladislav Gerasymenko rose grudgingly from his seat in front of his pitch black piano and slithered to pick up the cell that was vibrating on his ancient coffee table.

"Vladimir, you are an expert in calling at the wrong time."

"I wonder why that is?" the low voice hissed back from the other end of the line, his Romanian accent clearly detectable, "Perhaps because the great pianist failed to contact us like he'd promised to?"

The professor laughed gravely and sat himself back on the seat in front of his cherished piano.

"Ah, my friend, there is a saying in my home country: 'Ask a lot, but take what is offered.'"

"That is most interesting," the low voice contradicted, "But I know a saying from your home country, too. 'An enemy will agree, but a friend will argue', no?"

Gerasymenko raised his voice to make it audible over the notes he was playing with his free hand. "Very good, Vladimir, very good. Do you have an answer to this one? 'A guest has not to thank the host, but the host the guest."

"Enough with these games, Vladislav! Stefan and I have been waiting for your report."

"There is nothing to report," the pianist answered, aggravated to say the least. Romanians were always in a great hurry – and hurry was something Gerasymenko could not abide.

"Nothing to report? You are forgetting your duty, Vladislav. You have lost yourself in your music."

"No, Vladimir, not at all. I am lost in my music just as much as is healthy for us. But observation is a delicate affair, and delicate affairs demand time. I will report to you when I have something to report."

"You must have something."

The deafening chord made the vampire on the other end of the line jerk.

"_Something_ is not material, Vladimir. _Something_ is not perfection. I will not give you _something_ in your desperation."

No answer came.

"But since you are so thirsty for _something_, I shall give it to you. Isabella was there, but I did not get the chance of observing her any more than the day before. Alice was gone with the rest of the family. Only the daughter was there."

His associate finally found the voice to speak and murmured something into the receiver.

The pianist smiled.

"Yes, Vladimir, the plan is flawless.

"It will be most easy to take hold of her."


	3. The Irritation

"I would like to discuss the possibility of purchasing a new piano."

The pianist stood before us, looking just as graceful and superior as on the day we'd first met.

My family was seated on the various couches in the living room, listening politely to what the professor had to say. Edward was standing beside my seat, arms crossed and suddenly very interested in the simple pattern of our light parquet.

"Absolutely," Carlisle began, "But I see no need for us all to be here. Edward can purchase what he wants."

Vladislav Gerasymenko smiled and took a seat on the only empty chair in the room, the pride never leaving his poise.

"Ah, but I thought you were a family, no? Families discuss these things as… well, a family."

I couldn't get my eyes to leave the curve of his lips; the pianist's smile was all but comforting.

Carlisle smiled respectfully at the little joke and answered just as civilly as he had before.

"We are no ordinary family, Professor Gerasymenko."

"Indeed, you are not," the professor answered, still not letting his superiority be shattered, "Well, this meeting appears to be entirely useless. Why don't we give it some point?"

I tried to exchange a subtle look with the rest of the family, but couldn't meet anyone's eye. The awkward ambiance was visible on each of their faces, though – all were either trying their best to look polite, or letting their frustration flow freely, the latter being particularly clear in Rosalie's case. She hovered near the grand piano, obviously not knowing whether to leave or to stay.

"Certainly. Is there anything you would like to discuss, professor?"

"Oh, nothing in particular. Chit-chat will be fine, Doctor," he answered, looking at all the faces in the room. When he reached the corner Alice was sitting in, another of his daunting smiles spread across his face. "Do you play the piano, Mrs. Cullen?"

Alice smiled back, clearly uncomfortable with being the center of Gerasymenko's attention. "No, I'm not musical at all. But Rosalie plays quite –"

"Do you have any other hobbies, then? Not musical! Alas, I cannot imagine a life without music, but my opinion _is_ a little biased."

Alice laughed humorlessly and glanced at Edward. The latter raised his shoulders in a shrug.

"Well… I don't really have a hobby. I do whatever I feel like doing."

Gerasymenko nodded aloofly and turned his gaze to me.

"And you, Mrs. Cullen? A woman with such a talented husband _must_ be interested in music, as well."

I tried to ignore the gleam in his eyes as I answered.

"Actually, I don't know anything about music. My daughter, on the other hand, is turning out to be just as musical as her father. She started playing the violin a few years back."

The minute the words left my mouth, I regretted involving Nessie in the conversation. Some odd instinct was warning me about the peculiar vampire in our living room – an instinct that told me to grab my husband and daughter and run…

But, in some odd burst of my usually not-so-existent luck, Vladislav Gerasymenko seemed uncaring about the most interesting creature in the room.

"Ah, that is a shame. Your husband does not give you lessons?"

"He'd only waste his time," I responded, smiling the best I could.

The professor never broke his probing gaze. "Fortunately, time is something we all possess, do we not?"

I couldn't think of anything to say to that, and let the polite smile freeze on my face.

The way he was looking at me made chills run down my spine. Not only was his prying gaze highly distressing, but also the way his eyes flashed whenever I tried to pull mine away from his face.

I was transfixed.

The air grew more and more awkward with each second, and soon I could almost hear everyone cursing Edward in their heads. He _did_ come to the rescue eventually, but was obviously still unsure of what to say to his teacher.

He laid a hand on my shoulder and sat down beside me. "That's one advantage of eternity, I suppose, Sir. But our days contain enough entertainment for now – my wife would certainly not have the concentration to sit down for an hour to learn something new."

I let his comment slide, solely glad that I could finally tear my eyes away from the intimidating vampire.

Vladislav Gerasymenko reluctantly turned back to his pupil and stood up.

"May I be allowed to prove that for myself? Give me one hour alone with your wife, and I promise she will be able to play just as well as your blond sister."

Rosalie dashed out of the room.

"Well…" Edward turned to me questioningly.

I projected all my panic into my features, trying to open my mind so he could read just how little I wanted this. _No_ piano lessons, _no_ hour alone with that man…

"Splendid. Will you meet me next week, Mrs. Isabella? I will need to prepare my lesson."

"I'm not sure I –"

"Mrs. Alice, I would love for you to join us, as well. Perhaps I can get you interested in a new hobby."

Alice and I exchanged a panicked look.

"Professor, we –"

"Ah, already so late?" the professor continued, "Time still _is_ precious for those who have unlimited reserves of it. My new symphony is waiting for me at home. Remember to practice, Edward. And purchase that new piano. This old one is quite useless."

And without another glance back, Vladislav Gerasymenko left the building.

I didn't even bother to wait for him to get out of hearing range.

"Edward! How can you just stand there while Alice and I are desperately trying to decline his offer? It's not like you to _maroon _your wife and sister while they're in trouble! What is wrong with you?"

Edward knelt down in front of me and took my hand between his. He furrowed his brows pleadingly.

"I know, I know. I'm terribly sorry. I just… couldn't anger him that way. Professor Gerasymenko is very proud when it comes to music, and your seeming indifference aggravated him. He'd never waste a chance to teach someone about the power of music. Refusing him would make him _very_ irritated."

"More irritated than me?" I pulled my hand away and walked to where Alice was sitting.

"We're not going to do this. That man is creepy."

"He's only passionate. I saw into his mind and he… he _really_ only wants to teach you how to play the piano. No strings attached." Edward followed me and spun me around by his two hands on my shoulders. He glanced down at Alice as he pleaded.

"It's just one hour. Please do this – for me. Just one hour, and I'll be in your debt forever."

* * *

"I wasn't home yet, Vladimir. How could I have returned your calls?"

Vladislav Gerasymenko strode across his orderly living room, gazing at his grand piano longingly.

"This obsession is becoming a real nuisance. I'd never have agreed to this task if I had known how little privacy it would leave me. My musical talents are suffering from your endless calls."

"Forget your _musical talents_! They are of no use to us. You _must_ call when you are told, Vladislav. Don't lose yourself in your notes!"

The pianist came to a halt beside his black piano and growled, "_Forget_ my musical talents? Vladimir, my musical talents are the essence of this operation! Thanks to them, I have the two subjects just where I want them to be."

Vladimir's tone changed instantly at the sound of progress. "You have them?"

"Not yet," Gerasymenko answered, wiping away a single dust particle that had fallen onto the glossy, black surface of his beloved piano, "But I will, soon."

"How soon?"

"As soon as necessary. Hurry is pointless."

The vampire on the other end of the line huffed. "Whatever you say, Vladislav. You'd better know what you are doing. We Romanians have waited long enough."

"A week more will not hurt." Gerasymenko was growing impatient, the unfinished melody in his mind needing release.

"A week more of waiting is a week more for the Volturi to grow suspicious!" His heavy accent was even more evident as Vladimir raised his voice. "They are very uneasy about the Cullens as it is. Aro knows they are the only existing threat to his royal coven."

"For a reason," the professor replied calmly, "With Isabella and Alice on your side, they do not stand a chance. Jane and Alec will be useless, along with half of the other powers in their guard. Don't fret, Vladimir – I will do my duty as flawlessly as I always have. Now, if you will excuse me… I have a song to finish. Send my greetings to Stefan."

The pianist hung up and flung the receiver on his living room table. He knew that if he wanted any of the well-deserved privacy, he would have to disconnect several cables – but no, the song in his head was burning to be acknowledged.

Vladislav Gerasymenko seated himself on the wooden chair facing the piano keys and began the second part of his masterpiece. The colorful melody removed all signs of irritation as he played, touching all the right keys in all the right places.

One more week, and his music would be heard across the entire world.

One more week, and _he_ would be the master of the arts – not just among vampires, but among humans, too.

Mozart could hand down his crown.

_xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo_

_A/N:_

_Normally, I don't add author's notes into my stories here because they disrupt the flow of the plot and are often unnecessary. Normally, I don't like to beg for reviews._

_But after 3 chapters and just 1 review, I have to say I'm pretty disappointed. Please remember that I don't get anything for my writing. I write fanfiction because a) It's a great way to channel my obsession for Twilight, and b) It gives me practice. I want to improve my writing and stories, but how can I do that when I don't get any feedback? Right now, I just feel like my stories are so pathetic that nobody could even be bothered to read them =/_

_So, to end this annoying, whiny, childish note, I would like to remind everyone to review :)_

_Thank you for reading (and sorry about this rant...)_

_-- Noora ("Revontuli")_


	4. The Piano Lesson

The Romanian vampire marched back and forth on the stone floor, ignoring the displeased silence of his partner.

"Vladislav worries me. The whole operation is in his hands – and his failure would mean the loss of all our hope! Stefan, we _must_ assemble another plan, in case our accomplice is unsuccessful."

"Vladimir, rest your mind," Stefan appeased him, "We have already gone through this. Vladislav is very passionate about his music, but he will do his duty as he said he would. Musicians are perfectionists."

"_Passionate!_ Vladislav is zealous about all the wrong things, my friend. He should forget his jingles!"

"He is the best, Vladimir!"

"The best for _us_ or for himself?"

Vladimir halted and turned to his coven brother. The ongoing argument had been handled many times already, too many times to hold any interest for Stefan. He was frustrated by his brother's distrust. After all, they had chosen Vladislav for a reason – a reason Vladimir seemed to have forgotten.

"You mustn't insult his music, Vladimir," the vampire said for the last time, "He is a pianist, and pianists are very thin-skinned when it comes to what they do. Vladislav will play – but while he plays, he will do his duty."

Stefan took a step away from his brother, knowing the argument would start all over again soon enough. Vladimir's doubt could not be taken away,

As he'd suspected, Vladimir wasn't ready to let the matter drop. He followed Stefan out of the room, talking vehemently as they passed the many holes that had dug themselves into the ancient walls of their castle.

"Listen to me, Stefan. Our home has waited for its glory long enough. We are close to our goal – too close! The Volturi are growing suspicious. We need to act fast if we want to return to our rightful places as royals of the vampire world. Speed and security are crucial to us at this point, my brother! Vladislav is _not_ dependable and he does not want to hurry. His notes are more important to him than victory!"

"Must I repeat myself? Vladislav is passionate, but he –"

"_Passionate!_ That's all he ever is in your eyes. But he is not passionate about _this_."

Vladimir gestured towards the splendor of his ruined castle, feeling anew the pain each hole had cost him and his coven. The palace, once so grand and celebrated, was now only a ruin, a memory of the lost days of brilliance. No more royal family housed here; the ruin was merely the home of rats now.

"_This_, Stefan," Vladimir continued, "_This_ is passion. Vladislav can play his piano all he wants – he will never quite reach the zeal we have for restoring our home. What are notes next to conquest?"

Stefan sighed, gazing over his destroyed home with his familiar pain of lost battles.

"Regrettably, my brother, music _is_ victory for this man. But rest assured – he has as much to win as we do. If he succeeds, his music will sound in everybody's ears. His passion will not allow him to lose."

Vladimir smiled.

"Is _Edward_ passionate enough, my brother?"

"I believe he is," Stefan replied,

"And soon his family's passion will be on our side."

* * *

I imagined Edward laughing his head off upstairs – and gulped.

"Yes, Mrs. Cullen. Place your thumb over the middle C… Careful now, we don't want to break Edward's new piano, do we? Press the keys down."

I lowered my hand over the keys – all the time fearing the strings would snap inside the grand piano – and listened to the hum of the chord. It _sounded_ right to my ears.

"Almost, Mrs. Cullen, almost. Press all three keys down at the same time."

"Um," I started, still not lifting my hand, "I _did_ press them down at the same time."

The professor smiled.

"Not quite. Did you hear that that small… what shall we call it? Twitch? The G came a little later than the rest."

I glimpsed at Alice, who was sitting on the couch beside me, patiently waiting for her turn. She rolled her eyes.

"Let's try again, shall we?"

The groan that was threatening to surface got stuck in my throat as the thought of Edward's pleading face reappeared in my mind. He had warned me not to anger his teacher; irritating him might mean the end of _his_ piano lessons.

_For Edward, for Edward, for Edward…_

I pressed the three keys down again, being careful to hit them all together.

"Almost, Mrs. Cullen, almost…"

Alice sighed inertly as she watched her favorite sister struggle with the impossible task of pleasing professor Gerasymenko. She pitied Bella – all the while knowing that her turn would soon follow.

But _knowing_ was the wrong word.

She had glimpsed into the future, afraid of what she might observe, and had been astounded to notice that her lesson was nowhere in sight. She'd searched further – but in vain, as all she could see was Bella sitting beside the pianist, still trying to get the first chord right.

Had the professor forgotten his promise to teach her, too? It certainly seemed like it. But Alice crushed the hope that was spreading through her mind – She had to remember that if _she_ was relieved of her lesson, Bella would have to carry the double of her burden.

So she searched on, still not perceiving an end to Bella's piano lesson. Not in ten minutes, not in half an hour…

Not in three hours.

In fact, now that she had a clear view of the entire day, Alice found that the endless piano lesson was just that – endless.

The professor wasn't planning to end his teaching any time soon.

No, she must be mistaken – her sixth sense had been wrong before. The professor was just focusing so hard on Bella that all other options had faded from his mind and thereby from her visions.

So Alice said nothing, and continued to observe as Bella labored to get her very first chord right.


	5. The Failure

Forty-five minutes, and still no end to the ordeal in sight.

I stole a desperate glance at Alice, hoping to meet her eye so that she could see just how worn out I was. The professor had promised to teach his two new pupils for an hour – but surely he hadn't meant one hour each?

It was Alice's turn to undergo the professors training.

But as our eyes met, the look on her face made the last of my hopes disappear. She looked as puzzled as I was – and that could mean only one thing.

She couldn't see her lesson happening yet. The end of my torture was nowhere in sight.

The professor continued to gibber in his craze, pointing at one key after the next as he tried to make me understand what he wanted.

"A C, Mrs. Cullen! No, not the middle C… two octaves higher, right there. Yes, _yes_! We are very close to playing music, my lady! Do you hear the harmony?"

Even Edward's face evaporated as my willingness dissolved.

I lifted my hands for the last time and turned to my appalling instructor, who was staring at the piano keys with a look of utter insanity.

Is that what they call passion?

"Sir, I think it's Alice's turn now," I said to him, already resolved in not taking "no" for an answer.

I seemed to have startled my teacher, for as he turned around to face me, I nearly gasped at his wild expression. His ruby eyes were wide and absorbed, the bones of his face even more visible than usual. His scrawny hands still rested on the piano keys.

"Mrs. Cullen, we must continue. We are so very close to playing our first song! Just a few more hours and –"

"_A few more hours?_" I shrieked, forgetting all rules of courtesy.

"Yes, Isabella! You are doing so well… Please, let us not lose our concentration. Play the last chord again."

I didn't respond to his order, but only glimpsed at Alice for aid. Her face confirmed it all – this vampire was insane.

"Professor, we don't have _a few hours_. My family will be back in fifteen minutes. Alice hasn't had her turn yet," I tried to speak calmly, ignoring the way Alice was furiously shaking her head behind the professor's back.

But instead of pacifying him, my words seemed to have the opposite effect. His hands froze in midair.

"Fifteen… minutes?"

I was too afraid to answer, as his expression was thoroughly terrifying. The arrogant pianist was staring into space, a mad grin spreading across his face.

"Lost in my music… indeed!"

I contemplated standing up, but thought it better not to move. The professor looked like he needed some peace and quiet at the moment.

"It's so rare that I should be wrong, and someone else right! So peculiar…"

Alice and I exchanged another glance.

"And how right he was, this time!" the pianist continued, not speaking to anyone in particular, "And how powerful music can be! Does any other force on Earth succeed in ruining my concentration? I was focused… but music broke my walls. Hah! This is a loss for royalty but a triumph for music!"

He stood up and began rapidly pacing back and forth in our living room.

"My ladies, you cannot possibly know… or even _imagine_ what a proof of power this is to me! I _did_ lose myself in my music, after all. Passion towers over ambition!"

And with a quick goodbye, followed by a series of fanatical giggles, the pianist strode out of the room.

* * *

"You _what_?!"

"Yes, you heard me right, Vladimir. I lost myself in my music. My first attempt failed."

Vladislav Gerasymenko gazed into the mirror, seeing only the reflection of the black piano behind him. This triumph had to be celebrated.

Vladimir, on the other hand, didn't seem to agree.

"Your first and last, Vladislav! We will send somebody else. Somebody with more _perspective_. You have heavily disappointed us – all royalties! Was musical domination not enough motivation for you?"

"Ah, Vladimir, you have found the core of my glee! Greed was _not _enough to suppress my passion."

"_Glee?_" the Romanian vampire hissed into the phone, "How dare you delight in our defeat!"

"It is no defeat, my friend. A victory! A victory for music!"

"Your music does not interest me! We had an agreement, Vladislav. You broke that agreement. You cannot expect us to trust you again. Leave the country today – someone else will be there to replace you soon enough. For your sake, I hope they do not suspect anything. Your life depends on it."

The professor twirled on his feet and walked over to his grand piano. His bony hand glided over the sleek surface as he imagined his next song; a melody of glory and conquest…

The Romanians knew nothing of magnificence.

"Vladimir,_ you_ disappoint me. How could you send anyone else when I'm the only man suitable for the job?" the pianist argued calmly, "I am the only one who can handle the mind-reader. You can only get to him through music, my friend. You and Stefan are rather weak in that aspect."

Vladimir didn't answer.

"I have a new plan. Another week and authority will be yours."

"Another week?" Vladimir asked, calculating the chance of success in his mind.

"Without a doubt."

"And will your motivation be enough?"

"Trust me, my friend,"

The pianist's fingers glided over the ivory keys.

"My motivation has never been stronger before."

"One last chance, Vladislav. Only one."

Those foolish vampires.

Gerasymenko hung up on his accomplice and took his rightful seat in front of his grand piano. The oppressing silence in the room was almost music in itself – the flawless sound of silence that could only be overpowered by music.

And not just anyone's – only Vladislav Gerasymenko could give music the glory it deserved.

Enjoying the calm for one final moment, the pianist let his fingers glide over the keys.

And as he played his novel tune, he thought about the events that had taken place that day.

Thanks to his mistake, the Romanian coven would be much more difficult to gratify in the future. The professor knew that he had strengthened their distrust by failing – but it was a price he was willing to pay.

He had been foolish to believe that he could snatch the two women without difficulties. He had been arrogant and too sure of himself – he had needed a rebuke.

And music had given him that.

The golden notes danced through the air as the pianist played, savoring his latest lesson.

He had known that hurry was pointless, but had not lived up to it the way he should have. His actions had proven his words right.

This time, he would _not_ hurry. This time, he would use his head in the planning.

And this time, he wouldn't fail.

_**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**_

_(A/N): Please review :)_


	6. The Paint Job

The snowflakes fell to the ground slowly, as if in no hurry to join their brothers on the white blanket that covered the grounds.

Nessie was outside with Jacob – building a snowman, I liked to tell myself, and not making out under the snow-covered trees. Carlisle and Esme were upstairs, doing _something_, as were Rosalie and Emmett, who had disappeared along with the comfortable dryness that was now only a memory.

Everyone was enjoying their time with their second half. Everyone but us.

The tension between Edward and me greatly resembled the ice age outside – we both just sat there, avoiding each other's gazes while the snow fell and icy winds blew.

We had stopped talking about the current topic a minute ago, but we were still very strongly in the middle of the argument, both too stubborn to let it drop.

"You want to go outside?" Edward proposed, still keeping his eyes away from mine.

My answering tone was just as frosty as everything else in the room.

"It's snowing."

"You can't feel the cold anymore."

"Yeah, I know. But it's _snowing_."

"Explain the difference, please."

"No difference. It's snowing. Frozen drops of water are falling from the sky. What explanation do you need?"

"I do need another explanation," my husband implied, "About something you said a minute ago."

I shook my head. We really didn't need to go through this again.

"You're not meeting Gerasymenko again. Period."

Edward jumped to his feet and finally looked me in the eye, a look of utter desperation crossing his face.

"Why, Bella? _Why?_" he bellowed, "I've been waiting for this for decades, and now you're forbidding me to go?"

I ignored the cutting tone in which he had formed his phrase and tried to soften my features up – if force wouldn't do the job, bribery surely would.

"I just don't feel right about him. You should have seen him last week – he was _nuts_. I don't want my husband to be dangerously close to any madman."

"You know, in the course of history, many brilliant men were considered mad," Edward argued, "The professor is a _genius_. A madman? Maybe. Those two terms go hand in hand anyway."

I threw my hands in the air and turned away from Edward, noticing once again how our conversation was running in circles. I'd heard all his pleas, and he'd listened to all my arguments – to no avail.

"Please."

"No."

"But –"

"No."

Somewhere upstairs, a vase hit the floor – I could have sworn the sound came from Emmett's and Rosalie's bedroom.

It was unfair. We could have been enjoying ourselves, too, at the very moment, but instead we were going through an issue that would never find its end.

"Bella…"

Twirling around to shout at Edward for the very last time, I filled my lungs with air that I knew I would need if I wanted to deliver the message.

"You will _not_ take any more lessons from that man, not here, not anywhere! You can take lessons from someone else if you're so desperate, but they were a waste of time any –"

And there was a knock on the door.

* * *

Vladislav Gerasymenko stood on the stony doorstep.

Snow was falling around him – just like did in his home country – and covering the dead grass of the large front lawn. It had been nearly difficult to reach his destination, for the traffic was catastrophic – an accident here, a dead road there....

One small snowfall, and the whole country was in chaos, the professor complained in his mind. In his home country, not even blizzards could throw the people off course. Such a storm was pathetic compared to the tempests he had seen during his life.

It took a surprisingly long while for Edward to open the door, especially considering his mind-reading abilities. Hadn't he heard him arrive? Highly unlikely. Edward was merely too idle to lift his precious behind from his wife's lap until it was absolutely necessary. Yes, Edward would have to learn some ambition if he wished to share his music with the rest of the world.

Without exchanging a word, a rather embarrassed-looking Edward guided the pianist into the light living-room. The patterns on the simple wallpaper interested the professor, as did the minuscule cracks in the wooden flooring. Ah, the lamps were also just magnificent; the professor had never before noted the steadfast taste Mrs. Esme Cullen possessed.

"May we help you?" Isabella asked before her husband had time to interfere. Gerasymenko now understood Edward's tension – there had clearly been an argument only seconds before he'd arrived; the rigidity was still in the air.

"Good day, Mrs. Cullen. It is time for a piano lesson with your husband."

Edward opened his mouth to say something, but Isabella once again struck before him, her attitude leaving a bitter taste in the professor's mouth. Women these days were just too liberated, he had always said. Class and elegance no longer existed.

"It's Thursday. Edward's lessons are on Saturdays."

"Additional lessons never do any harm, Mrs. Cullen."

A most unusual look spread across Isabella's face – almost as if she doubted the words. Of course, she had many reasons to sus – ah, what a wonderful color! He would have to ask what shade the walls were, for his own apartment was badly in need of a new coloring. Beige would fit so well to the black piano that adorned his now dark living room…

"Erm, professor, I… was intending to call you tonight. You see, my wife and I have talked about the piano lessons, and came to the conclusion that I should –"

"Continue, no doubt!" the professor exclaimed, "Naturally, with the great talent you possess! And such a gifted daughter…"

The room fell silent.

"Gifted… daughter?" Isabella inquired, turning a peculiar shade of white that any painter would murder for.

"Why, yes," the professor answered, while simultaneously assessing the amount of snow outside – was it five inches? What a pathetic quantity. And this was what put the country in panic!

"What have you done to her?"

"Bella…"

Smiling at Edward's attempt to stop his wife's _ridiculous_ accusation, the professor turned to look into the mother's blazing eyes.

"I have done nothing, Mrs. Cullen. Your daughter is at my quarters, going through some notes I've given her. I was thinking Edward would like to have his lesson now so young Renesmee can decide whether she'd like to begin to play or not. I see some real potential in her."

The fire in Isabella's eyes burned on.

For one long moment, Edward stared at his wife with a look of understanding, then turned to his teacher and nodded.

"At your place?"

"At my place, Edward."

Worry crossed over the pupil's face.

"Perhaps Isabella and Alice should join us, don't you think?"

The color of the walls was truly spectacular. Mrs. Cullen clearly had an eye for the arts. Would she help him refurnish his house, Vladislav Gerasymenko wondered. Yes, Mrs. Cullen had such fabulous taste.


	7. The Ice Age

The icy street didn't prevent Edward from driving fast.

In fact, the way the car's tires glided along the slippery surface seemed to drive Edward to an even faster speed, which – I may add – was well over any limitations. Even for Germany.

But I didn't care to remind Edward that his wish for speed was stronger than his vehicle, and continued to stare ahead in frosty silence.

Eventually, the echo of the car's engine wasn't enough to conceal the oppressing stillness, and Edward turned his eyes from the road to my face which was still pointing straight out, refusing to meet his gaze. From the corner of my eye I saw Edward's lips twist down into a frown.

"I'm sorry," he began. "I should have listened to you."

Knowing that any other answer would lead to a further argument, I shrugged.

"Gerasymenko _is_ insane," Edward continued, and turned to look at the road again. He puckered his eyebrows in a brooding manner and lifted his left hand to cover a part of his angular chin. I could tell his broodings were of no positive nature from the way his eyes glazed over in concern.

For a moment, we just drove in silence, but the rigidity of the problematic situation forced me to end my "silent treatment". I took a deep – and unnecessary – breath of air and leaned back, crossing my fingers as if in prayer.

Edward noticed my new pose quickly, and seemed to draw the same metaphor from it, for he switched hands on the driving wheel in order to cover my entwined fingers with his palm. He shook my hands.

"It's all right, Bella. Nessie is fine. His mind cannot lie to us."

The whole day's stringency then finally melted away, and like thawing ice in spring, the waters running down my spine were still cold, still wintry.

"His mind cannot lie to us?" I cried. "_Cannot lie?_ Then what has been going on in the last few months? Whose mind have you been hearing? You've been spending one hour a week with that man, if I recall, and you haven't suspected a thing! So what now, this sudden change of approach just appeared out of nowhere? He obviously _can_ lie to us."

I suppressed my panic at the thought of Nessie in a madman's hands, and clamped my lips shut before I'd show how scared I _really_ was. I wasn't mad at Edward – the fear was much too powerful to allow any other emotions to root in my head.

"I don't understand it," Edward murmured, more as an afterthought than in defense. "His mind never betrayed a word of this. I could have sworn to his sincerity. And yet he has clearly been planning this for a long while – but _why_? What has he to gain by keeping Nessie? Why does he want you and Alice at his house? How could he _not think about it_?"

I shrugged for the second time and bit down on my lip.

"I don't really care _how_ he did it. All I'm interested in is the _what_."

* * *

Little Alice was the first to arrive at the professor's place. She seemed reluctant to step into the still unfamiliar house alone, and lingered around the vast garden instead, pretending to know precisely what she was doing.

But Gerasymenko smiled at the arrival of his guest. As long as he was the host, no lady would be left alone in the cold – though it was no more physically uncomfortable than the house, it _did_ have a certain symbolic meaning that could not be ignored. So he opened the front doors of his residence and called to the nervous vampire.

"Ah, Alice, my dear. How delighting to see you've arrived! May I have the great honor of offering you a chair in my living room while we wait?"

Alice forced a smile onto her petite face, and glided over the lawn to shake hands with the tall, bony vampire. By the bemused look on her face, the professor could tell that the instructions she had been given were very imprecise, and that she had only a vague idea of the state of affairs. This irritated him – did Edward truly lack the courtesy to give his sister a proper explanation?

He led his guest through the narrow hallway and into the more extensive living room, a smile that he might describe as friendly enlightening his ashen face. Alice kept her gaze to the front the entire time. There was a dim look there, a look of remoteness, which could only mean that she was using her astonishing ability to search for answers in the time still to come.

She would find little of interest in the upcoming seconds, but did she see beyond that? The professor couldn't help but wonder about _his_ own outlook, the potential that lay there. When Alice's expression shifted, he immediately thought of only one possible reason – she could see the splendor that waited for him in the future, and, most importantly, the musical harmony that he could and _would_ bring the world as a gift.

His thoughts were not interrupted when another woman bounded across the marble floors to embrace his new guest. A grand stage with _his_ grand piano and _his_ grand stature and _his_ grand performance…

The rumble of a car's engine was enough to pull him out of his contemplation, though, and Gerasymenko cursed the damn, metal monster in his mind. There used to be a time when no such horrid noises fouled the air.

But Gerasymenko also knew what the arrival of that certain vehicle would mean, and he braced himself for the upcoming visit. This time, he couldn't allow himself to underestimate his task.

Alice was holding Renesmee protectively as she turned her head towards the approaching sound in expectance. There was knowledge in her gaze.

"Your brother and his wife will be arriving shortly. Can I offer you anything?" Gerasymenko asked, oblivious to Renesmee's disgusted expression. "Tea, perhaps?"

"You've always been a joker," The young half-vampire spat at him, "_Sir._"

This angered the professor.

"Have your parents not taught you how to respect your elders?"

"Sure they have. I'm to respect my _sane_ elders at all times. And oops, it looks like you don't belong in that group…"

"Nessie," Alice cautioned her niece in a whisper.

Oh, the insolent youth! The world was not progressing in any pleasurable direction. The professor could accept the arrogance of the imprudent humans, but why mature vampires should be allowed to behave this way, he could not understand. The Volturi era had done nothing but harm to honor and decency…

And he could not lose his focus. There was too much danger in giving away too much at a too early stage.

The roar of the engine came nearer and nearer, until it finally reached its destination with one deafening screech of the brakes. Gerasymenko winced at the blare. He would have to scold Edward about that later.

The professor's ruined mood was not uplifted when the newcomers burst right through the front door and dashed into the dark living room with overstated frenzy.

"Nessie, Nessie, Nessie…" The young mother ranted as she passed him, not caring to even glimpse at her generous host. Edward, too, greeted his teacher with only a defiant stare.

"It's ok, it's ok, we're here, you're safe…"

Gerasymenko was bewildered.

"My dear children, there really is no need for all this fuss," he declared, "I rarely encounter such disrespect! Remember this: Rudeness is a weak man's imitation of strength. Etiquette is of greatest importance when one has something the other has not."

"And the other way around," Bella hissed under her breath and shot a deadly glower at Gerasymenko.

"Indeed, Isabella, indeed," he agreed.

Edward positioned himself between his family and his teacher, and spread his arms out protectively.

"We have all we want from you now," he said coldly, "and we have no reason to stay. Goodbye, professor."

But, as though he foresaw the outcome of an attempted escape, he did not move from his defensive stance.

"You have _all_ you want, young Edward?" the professor hinted, "_Everything?_"

Isabella shot an anxious look at her daughter.

And then the warm body evaporated from under her arms, becoming nothing but hot steam in the chilliness of the living room air…

"_Nessie!_"

Edward snarled and hurled himself at the pianist, pinning him to the stone floor.

"_Where is she? What have you done to her?_"

The pianist glared at him and shook his head in disgust.

"This is why you will never become a great pianist, Edward. You have no susceptibility for delicate affairs such as this. You are too heavy-handed."

The words had no effect on Edward. The professor sighed as he saw his pupil's brows draw together while he tried to detect the answers from his mind.

The small but elegant chandelier glimmered in the little light of the room, the reflecting light sending rainbows across the walls, the crystals swaying in the clamor of the usually so silent house…

Edward growled.

"Where. Is. My. Daughter."

Isabella was now standing above the pianist's face, looking down at him in ferocious, unforgiving hatred. Her eyes were pitch-black.

"I am willing to discuss the matter at hand," Gerasymenko offered. "If I get_ my_ hands back. Be careful there, young one. My fingers are essential when it comes to playing, as a pianist you should know that – "

"I will rip off every one of those fingers right _now_ if you don't speak," Edward threatened.

"Now, now. We are both men of honor."

The two men stared at each other for a very long moment.

"Rip them off," Bella encouraged, followed by a grave nod from Alice. "Take away from him what he took away from us – his life."

"No one has been taken away from anyone yet, Isabella."

Gerasymenko was growing impatient. He had feared the young vampires might act inconsiderate, but this behavior went beyond that term. Clearly, they were not blessed with intelligence, or they'd know when it was their turn to listen, and his turn to speak.

Edward eased his grip slightly.

"I will speak as soon as I am set free, Edward. The situation is not hopeless. Your daughter is fine."

The professor let sincerity flood his thoughts, and finally, Edward did let go. Both men straightened carefully, all the while staring into each other's eyes in mistrust and antipathy.

Isabella shot a violent glare at Edward, but did not dare to tackle the professor again.

"Talk," Edward ordered as soon as he was upright.

Gerasymenko smiled, and motioned for his guests to have a seat.


	8. The Text Messages

The first part of our plan is completed.  
Awaiting your orders.  
Sincerely, VG

Excellent, Vladislav.  
Keep our guests entertained.  
We will arrive in 24 h.  
Sincerely, V & S

24 h, my friends.  
No hurry.  
Sincerely, VG

* * *

Vladimir read the text message three times in total, and skimmed through it another five times in his head.

Against all his expectations, Vladislav Gerasymenko had indeed finished his job. He had not performed flawlessly, and certainly not without awaking doubts in his employers' heads, but what did that mean now that victory was so near? The hum of horns was all but tangible in the thick air of the plane.

Why could the aircraft not pick up the pace a little?

Stefan, too, seemed restless on the seat beside him. He had been calm throughout the few weeks of waiting, never once doubting their accomplice, but now that the moment was near, there was no stopping the agitation.

But there was a difference in their agitation. While Stefan simply wanted to put all those centuries of waiting behind them, Vladimir worried about the two subjects – prisoners, if you will.

Vladislav was alone with his "guests". And no matter how you twisted and turned the equation, one never quite equaled two.

"We will not get there fast enough," Vladimir finally agonized out loud. "He is alone with them, Stefan. If they choose to escape, they can."

"Without their daughter? Don't be silly, Vladimir," Stefan contradicted, completely at ease. Vladimir never had understood the bonds which tied a family.

"They might find out where we are keeping her, and then they will have no reason to stay."

"Renesmee is miles away."

"Gerasymenko's _mind_!"

"Is safe, Vladimir. I believe you have enough proof of that."

Stefan turned away from the whispered conversation and focused on a pretty blond stewardess instead. Her long pony tail swung back and forth as she marched from one side of the plane to the other. Their eyes met for a second.

"I think I'll feed before heading north, Vladimir. Care to join me?"

* * *

I could sense that the pianist had nothing more to say.

The way he sat there, utterly pacified, irritated me beyond belief. There was no nervousness in his eyes when our gazes met, no startle when I growled, and not a single impolite word when Edward cursed him. Gerasymenko just sat on his black couch and waited.

Yes, he was obviously waiting for something – but for what? He had told _us_ to wait. Why abduct Renesmee, lure us to his home, explain the whole plot to us, and then just _wait_?

I hurled the question at him at some point, and his answer was more than unsatisfying:

"Hurry is pointless, my dear Isabella. Worthless, in fact."

I couldn't even call it an answer.

Such vague retorts were all we were receiving from him now that he'd finished his explanation. In response to my question of where he was keeping Renesmee, he had only pronounced how safe her hiding place was. When I asked him what _his_ part was in all this insanity, he had replied with one word – _music_.

I didn't know what else to ask. Besides, I was seconds away from ripping his throat open, and it would have been unwise to provoke me with another arrogant, one-worded response.

So I clenched my hands into fists and concentrated on _not_ killing him, drowning in emotions that consisted half of hatred, and half of fear.

Neither Alice nor Edward had spoken throughout my whole interrogation. The latter was oddly stationary, and the expression on his face showed that he was concentrating very hard on something.

I had a suspicion of what it could be.

After a few silent hours, he finally spoke: "How do you do it?"

Gerasymenko looked up from his notepad.

"Please phrase your question more clearly, Edward. I cannot read your mind."

"That's precisely what I'm talking about," Edward answered agitatedly. "Why has your mind revealed none of this? I have seen into it more than once, and on each occasion I couldn't make out an ounce of this plan. How do you do it?"

This question triggered another reaction in the professor. Instead of answering swiftly in an uninterested tone, he now smiled and put his pen and paper down, looked Edward straight in the eye, and answered, fully and unconcealed:

"It's passion, Edward. The one thing that comes in your way to fame. The one thing that distinguishes me from my students – all brilliant musicians, and all so close to becoming like me, but all so far. I looked the word up in a dictionary once, all because of my natural curiosity. 'An intense sexual love, any strong emotion, or great enthusiasm,' it said." Gerasymenko sighed. "So ignorant, so ignorant…"

Edward stared at him, obviously unimpressed. The pianist noticed his confused expression and continued:

"I see you are still clueless. A more detailed explanation is required. Forgive me; I forgot how naïve the youth is in this day and age. So utterly uninformed. Let me enlighten you.

"'Passion' is, in fact, more than an emotion. It is not just mere 'enthusiasm'. Passion is an attitude. A _way of thinking_.

"And passion is multifaceted. Many other traits are closely associated with it – concentration, endurance, poise… And all this, young Edward, is what keeps my mind clean of unnecessary thoughts."

Edward shifted his stance a little and tilted his head. "So… you _choose_ what to think?"

"No, silly boy, not in the slightest," Gerasymenko retorted, aggravated now. "I do not go through any conscious process of choosing which thoughts to display. I do not have to. Much rather, my mind stays focused on the matter at hand. I am not distracted by sounds, objects, or other people the way you are, Edward. When I choose to play music, I will do so without fault. When I choose to answer a question, I concentrate on the one issue alone, and not on the abstract details around the subject. It is a gift I have always had."

"And Nessie?" I asked. Somehow, Gerasymenko seemed to know that I wasn't talking about my real daughter, but about her illusion.

"Another vampire with another power, my dear Isabella. Illusionists are exceedingly interesting creatures. I've always wondered what it is like to live in a reality that does not exist."

"And this… illusionist is with my daughter, correct?"

"Correct."

I fervently hoped that illusions didn't involve any pain.

"And where is this illusionist?"

Edward's vain attempt to force Gerasymenko to reveal Renesmee's hiding place brought us back to the spiral of futile questions.

"At a safe place, young Edward, a safe place…"

* * *

Vladimir's mobile phone was turned on before the plane had even landed.

"Brother!" Stefan hissed at him. "The rules still apply –"

"Quiet, Stefan. The plane will not crash because of one little mobile."

He ardently browsed through his text messages until he found the one he was looking for:

24 h, my friends.  
No hurry.  
Sincerely, VG

The "no hurry" part greatly goaded him, but he ignored it and chose the option "Reply".

Silently in his head Vladimir thanked humanity for inventing such a useful device as he entered his message, remembering well the past days when such instant communication had been impossible. The keys made a grating sound whenever he pressed them, but he let that detail slide.

Five seconds, and his message was complete. Another thirty, and it would be on its way.

3 h, Vladislav.  
Prepare for our meeting.


	9. The Seed of Doubt

"Should we ring the doorbell, brother, or should we get straight to business?"

"In medias res, I think, Stefan. I'm sure Vladislav won't mind."

The pianist sighed at the pettiness of his two allies. Their loud and pointless conversation was obviously not meant to be a private one. Gerasymenko was painfully aware of his three guests instantly tensing and preparing for attack.

"Ah, Vladislav, my friend! Long time no see, hm?"

The dark-haired vampire entered the room with his arms outstretched, as if he intended to give his host a large hug.

"Vladimir. Stefan."

As much as the job was going to do for his advantage, the pianist had nevertheless not been looking forward to their meeting. There was something so repulsive about the way the Romanians conducted themselves – they moved as if the air was a barrier, not a patron. Their ruthless way of seeing the world as nothing but a gold mine to exploit was sordid, to say the least.

Vladimir, especially. His eyes had more sheer brutality in them than those of his ashen brother.

In the end it was him, too, who first cast his eyes on the three raging vampires that had miraculously remained in their seats.

"Edward, Isabella, and Alice. What a pleasure this is!"

The pianist felt horribly ashamed for the young woman as he saw her lose the last ounce of self-control. She sprung to her feet and charged menacingly at her two adversaries, her screams coming out more as growls than anything else.

"You _monsters_! Who do you think you are? Kidnapping _my_ daughter?"

Vladimir jumped out of the way just in time, a frown taking the arrogant smile's place on his lips.

Isabella twirled around just when she was about to hit the wall. Gerasymenko sighed again – was this how children were raised these days? Were they never taught to show more respect when as a guest in someone's home?

Edward and Alice joined Bella's side, but instead of helping her attack, each put a restraining arm around her waist.

"Calm down, Bella," Alice whispered. "We can't hurt them."

"Yet," Edward added suggestively.

The Romanian vampires, who had crouched down in the anticipation of a fight, straightened up again and took a step forward, a now more serious expression spreading across their faces.

Finally, the pianist thought, the circus is over.

"Where is my daughter?" Bella asked through clenched teeth and tightly closed eyes. Edward tightened his grip around her, but sent a murderous look at Vladimir.

"He doesn't know," he growled, clearly frustrated.

"Let us not be unreasonable," Stefan spoke for the first time. His manner was calmer than that of his brother, and for that Gerasymenko was grateful. Composure would get them much farther than screaming, and it was a wonder that Vladimir had not yet perceived such a basic rule.

The pianist stood up slowly and deliberately, knowing that his movements were being recorded by every pair of eyes in the room. He laughed internally at their mistrust – how childish it was that they couldn't even trust the man who had brought them so far!

"Children," the pianist addressed them for what they really were. "Please, sit down! We shall talk about this."

Alice relaxed a little, but both Bella and Edward glowered coldly at his proposal and did not move.

"Suit yourselves."

Gerasymenko walked over to his grand piano and sat down on the mahogany bench. Crossing his fingers, he decided that it was up to him to begin the negotiation. As always, he would have to be the only adult.

"We all have something the other wants," he began, "Of course we can kick and scream like infants in a candy store and come to no conclusion at all. But please, for the sake of saving some precious time, let us cooperate."

Vladimir picked up on his lead.

"You know what _we_ want, I believe."

"World domination?" Edward asked bitterly, dark humor flashing in his eyes.

"No, not _world_ domination," Stefan preceded, his slight frame as still as a river on a windless day.

"Only the Volturi must go," Vladimir clarified.

Silence.

The Romanians smiled and looked at their captives with the tiniest glint of disdain in their eyes.

"Must we explain where you will come into the picture?"

The three vampires didn't say anything, but their hush was answer enough.

Gerasymenko observed apathetically as despair crossed his guests' expressions.

"Of course we would highly appreciate it if you could… _convince_ your family to join us. It truly would be an honor to fight alongside the great, victorious Cullens."

Edward growled, but gave him no answer.

Bella, who had gradually begun to calm down – from defeat or desolation, he could not tell – opened her eyes again to reveal two pleading black irises.

"And if we do as you say," she said carefully, obviously having to battle each word out of her mouth, "you will not harm Renesmee."

The Romanians looked uninterested in the fate of their other prisoner, but answered anyway: "Of course not. We are men of out word, Isabella. If you keep your side of the deal, we will keep ours."

"I hope that applies to my side of the deal as well, gentlemen," the pianist interjected, looking sternly at his allies. Children did always need reminders to keep them on track, after all.

"Yes, yes," they answered, possibly less single-mindedly than to the former question. Gerasymenko saw Edward's head snap up, but ignored the sudden hope that he found in his eyes – most likely it was merely a misapprehension that always struck the despaired at some point in the beginning of their misery.

As all the sides seemed to be contented, Vladimir and Stefan exchanged a glance and headed back towards the door. The pianist felt instantly wounded from their lack of manners – did they not know any respect towards their host?

"We have other businesses to see to, I'm afraid, so we cannot linger," Vladimir said.

"But we will meet again soon," Stefan concluded. "As already mentioned, we would be very grateful for your family's help."

And without another word of goodbye, the Romanians left the professor's house as rudely as they had arrived.

They listened to the footsteps disappear into the thick woods around the manor, and soon they were but a small clicking against the rest of nature's sounds. The professor looked at his guests' faces again.

The hostility had left their appearances, and all that was left was the despair.

"We're as good as dead," Alice finally whispered, only to receive no answer from her equally desolate friend.

But Edward was different. The pianist scrutinized his pupil's face, and their eyes met instantly. The ferocity of his hope rendered him speechless.

"Professor," Edward said in a tone calmer than his appearance would have suggested, "they are lying."

He understood the words but not their meaning. Confusion swept over him.

"They don't care about music. All they want is to overthrow the Volturi, and they will say anything to get them there. They'll promise anything to anyone."

No, it couldn't be. Edward was playing a silly game with him, that was all.

"Sir," Edward continued, taking a step closer, "you're not the only musician they've promised monopoly to."

It was a silly game. Knowing that young people would do anything when chased into a corner, he pianist waved off Edward's accusations.

But still, it was there.

That first seed of doubt.


	10. The Deception

He added the last touch to his arrogance by excusing himself after the first hour.

Yes, by _excusing_ himself – the Pianist simply stood up after a while and politely informed us that he would be back soon, without so much as warning us to stay where we were. He acted as if we were nothing but his happy guests, and he nothing but our generous host. As if we had chosen to be there with him.

It was almost as if we were so helpless that he had no need to baby-sit us.

That is why we all shot him an icy glare when he passed which, unfortunately, seemed to go unnoticed.

We waited silently for a few seconds. Finally Alice whispered, "Is he really gone?"

Edward stared in the direction of the front wall for a second, and then nodded.

"Yes... yes, he is."

I instantly jumped to my feet and angrily threw my hands in the air. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's get out of here!"

But Alice and Edward only looked up at me sadly and shook their heads.

"We can't leave," Alice said carefully, obviously not wanting to upset me. I growled and slumped back down on the black couch. "As long as they have Nessie, we're trapped. Only Gerasymenko knows where they're keeping her, so if we anger him…"

I winced. Once again my emotions did a full turn and landed back at despair. The image of my only daughter, shaking with fear in the hands of a dangerous illusionist… I shook off the thoughts. They were too painful.

But it was so frustrating! Technically, we were free to leave anytime we wanted to. I ached to run through the woods where I hoped they were holding her, and to finally relieve some of the tension that had nestled itself into my muscles. Not only was staying here painfully passive, but humiliating, too – we were being lead like marionettes, and we had no choice but to let it happen...

The urge to break something overwhelmed me. The glimmering shape of the professor's pianoforte suddenly grabbed my attention.

I was just about to establish a plan on how to ruin it, when Alice laid a tiny hand on my shoulder and cautioned me: "_Not _a good idea, trust me. That piano is like a child to him."

"Yes, and _he_ took _my_ child away!" I cried, still not intending to have mercy on the abominable thing. "Consider this my revenge…"

"He hasn't taken anyone permanently away from us yet," Alice reminded me.

I growled, but let it go. I was stuck, and there was nothing I could do about it. I felt like Tantalus – always surrounded my luscious water, but never allowed to quench my thirst with it.

But I needed to calm down. I tried taking a few deep breaths, but it didn't work – the air was so tainted with his stifling scent that it made me queasy. I tried shifting on the couch, but that didn't word either, as it only redoubled my need for action.

Hoping to receive help from Edward, I looked up at him.

Edward was pacing the length of the room with closed eyes, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose and his lips sealed tightly shut. He looked utterly lost in thought.

"Edward?" I approached him, suddenly more worried for him than for myself. "What's wrong?" _Apart from everything_, I appended in my mind.

His eyes snapped open at my words and he came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the room.

"I think he might be wavering," He spoke too fast to sound unruffled. I exchanged a glance with Alice, who was looking at him with an equally concerned expression. "There has to be a reason he left us alone now. Good hosts don't do that, not unless it's absolutely essential…" He trailed off.

I tried to put the pieces together, but I couldn't see the whole picture. "What do you mean?" I asked him, now a little hopeful again. If whatever it was excited him so much, it had to be a good thing.

"The professor," he continued and began pacing again. "He pretended not to take my words to heart, but the truth is he did believe them. He's too far away for me to hear him, of course, but maybe…" His hand covered his mouth as he closed his eyes. "Maybe he wants to verify what I told him earlier. It would make sense – he's been considering it all evening… He can sense the Romanians have fooled him…"

Somewhere inside of me, the light bulb came alight. "What, you weren't lying when you said the Romanians are playing games with him?"

Edward nodded. "It's true – they don't care about music. The professor is nothing but a tool to them."

"Yes!" Alice jumped up from her seat with newly ignited fervor.

"Yes, Alice, they've been playing him all alone. And he sees that now."

My mind rushed over the possibilities that this new advantage would bring us. A break in their party could only work for our favor, and we were in serious need of something to work with. Maybe, just maybe, we could convince Gerasymenko to switch sides and…

"We have to find him. Now."

I was already halfway out of the room when Edward caught up with me and grabbed my arm.

"No, Bella. We have to let him think this over by himself. The professor is not a man to mistrust easily, and he has to decide to do so without any outer influences. If we disturb him now we might ruin all our chances."

I barked out a humorless laugh. Why was it that I wasn't ever allowed to do _anything_? "I thought the man was a genius."

"He is." What – Edward was still defending him? "But their offer of musical domination over the entire world was something he couldn't resist. He is usually very careful when forming new acquaintances, so once he's teamed up with someone it would take a disaster for him to switch sides. He's a loyal man…"

"Well, I think _this_ is disastrous enough."

"Maybe…" Edward trailed off again in his thoughts. I watched him walk from one side of the room to the other until he suddenly altered his route. He stepped leisurely over the black marble floor to the equally black piano on the other side of the room.

My eyes widened when he sat down at it and carefully lifted the unblemished lid.

"You can't be serious."

I couldn't deny that the sound of his hands gliding perfectly over the notes wasn't soothing and beautiful, but the irony of the situation was really too much to bear. _This_ was practically the reason we were in this mess.

Well, at least he was playing his own songs and not Ligeti's.

Somewhere in the far corners of my mind, I wondered what the pianist would say when he found my husband playing on _his_ treasured piano. One part of me dreaded his reaction while the other looked forward to seeing him rage over Edward. And then there's was the one part – that one tiny part – that abhorred me for being able to think such thoughts at times like these. How had I fit spite into the cauldron with all those other emotions floating around? Incredible.

But I had to stop living in the future. I had the moment to enjoy.

So I simply leaned back, closed my eyes, and tried to let Edward's music dispel the panicked thoughts out of my mind.

* * *

Gerasymenko looked back through the trees.

He was already ten miles away from the house – surely that was enough? Edward's mind-reading couldn't extend over a limitless distance, he was sure. But the pianist was nothing if not prudent. Unlike most people these days, he knew it was better to play on the safe side than to live life on that fine line of danger.

So he ran another mile and a half until he was satisfied that there was no chance Edward could listen in.

Standing straight among the crooked trees, Gerasymenko drew his mobile phone out of his pocket and dialed in the long number. There were three long rings on the other side of the line.

Then he picked up.

"Hello?" The deep, resonant voice sounded from the tiny speakers, causing Gerasymenko to pucker his brow. He hadn't thought he'd have to hear that voice again this soon.

"Grandinetti?"

The silence of his conversional partner confirmed that he, too, had recognized the caller.

"I will make this short, Grandinetti, and I hope you will help me make it so. That is why I would appreciate it if we could jump over the conventionalities."

The abominable bass voice was not a snarl when it surfaced, but the pianist could tell that it had started as one.

"Vladislav Gerasymenko. What an honor." The sarcasm came out warped through his thick Italian accent.

"Yes, yes, my dear old friend, it is indeed an honor. But let us talk about the things that really matter."

"You'd better have a good reason for disturbing me. I was in the middle of a rehearsal, _mamma mia_!"

Gerasymenko wrinkled his nose. It had always been a mystery to him why the most undeserving people had to be blessed with such heavenly talents. Why was it that Grandinetti, who was not only a self-important fool but also an _Italian_, was allowed to perform in the greatest concert halls of Europe? He, like all other Italians, knew nothing of respect and elegance.

And yet he was the best basso in the world. It was men like him that had made the pianist lose his trust in justice.

But Gerasymenko was an aristocrat who would lower himself to petty name-calling. "I shall get straight to the point then. I have but one question. Answer it truthfully, and I will let you go."

Solely pride was keeping Grandinetti on the phone, but he assented all the same.

"I will be direct and I will be rude: Are you or are you not in league with the Romanians?"

The question seemed to dumbfound the basso.

"I thought you had a rehearsal to go back to, old friend."

The deep voice finally returned, only this time with more vigor and obvious enmity. "What is it to you, Gerasymenko?"

First the words only affronted Gerasymenko, who had to take a few breaths to restrain from snapping back at him. How dare he talk to the world's greatest pianist in such an insolent manner? Composers like himself were practically the employers of the singers who became famous through _their_ melodies. Did his discourtesy know no boundaries?

And then the conviction hit him like a tidal wave.

"Thank you, Grandinetti. Don't let me keep you away from your practicing." The pianist ended the call with one push of the button.

Grandinetti's defensive manner could mean but one thing.

Humiliation acted as the fuel, surprise as the first spark – ferocious anger flared up inside Gerasymenko as he acknowledged that he had been deceived.

Knocking down a tree in his rage, the pianist calculated his chances in his mind.

The Romanians would pay dearly for their deception.

* * *

Renesmee looked up carefully from the couch.

The man was still staring straight at her, giving her no hope of escape. She couldn't even twitch without instantly being pored over by her vigilant captor.

Come on, Nessie thought as she stared defiantly back at him, let your guard down for _one second!_

It seemed to be a vain hope, though. His eyes were always firmly fixed on her.

Renesmee sighed. If the situation wasn't so treacherous it might have been exceedingly funny. There was something so comical about the way he observed her every move and refused to let her shift a single inch from where she was now glued to the shabby couch. And he's eyes were so big, too… like two flying saucers.

Or like two massive headlights that were constantly directed at her. Renesmee bit down a giggle.

That didn't prevent the little shake that ripped through her, though. The guard's eyes narrowed immediately.

To lessen the tension which was becoming quite unbearable, Nessie decided to strike up a conversation with the not-so-conversational guy. Maybe he was less careful when distracted by talking.

"Are my parents all right?"

No answer came. Renesmee grumbled in annoyance.

"Oh please, that bit of information won't help me escape! It would just make me feel a little better to know that my mom and dad are okay."

The guard hesitated for a moment, but finally answered: "They should be fine."

"Should be?" Renesmee asked, already knowing that she would receive no answer.

The silence returned and Nessie leaned back on her seat – the movement being closely recorded by the man's sharp eyes, of course – and looked up at the dirty ceiling. She started counting the numerous cracks there.

It annoyed her greatly to know that despite her parents being only a few dismal miles away from her hiding place she could hope for no rescue. The fact that she wasn't saved already meant that these men had her family in a headlock. But why were they keeping her here for so long? Surely they didn't want ransom. Vampires were rich as a general rule. They didn't need any stupid money.

So that had to mean they wanted something else. Her, maybe? No, that was stupid – Renesmee knew that she'd be stuck to test tubes by now if that was what they wanted.

So the only possibility left was her family. That made sense – her family was a very powerful one, and had many enemies…

Fear whisked through her slight body, causing another shiver to attract the guard's attention. But this time Nessie didn't see his surefire stare. All she could concentrate on were the questions: Why could they not leave her family alone? Why did _her_ parents have to be so gifted, out of all people?

Why did she have to be so darn kidnap-able?

Ah, it was useless to worry. And still that was exactly what she did – Nessie worried and planned her escape.

Her eyes shifted back to the watchful guard.

The escape seemed more and more unlikely each minute.


	11. The Perfection

Betrayal is a precarious business.

Oh, there are people who can be safely betrayed. Those people will only feel hurt and sorrow if they one day find out, but will not take any steps to avenge the injustice. No real danger for the traitor exists.

But then there are those who will not let themselves be deceived. People who will not waste their time on sorrow.

The pianist was one of those people.

Now that he had learned of the treachery, he did not feel grief. It was white-hot rage that coursed through his veins and poisoned his morality. The rage was like a blazing mist that hung over his eyes. But though it distorted his view, it did not falsify his reasoning. Instead of hanging down his head or exploding from the anger, the professor used the energy for thinking, for calculating, and for planning.

He did not believe in karma; no, karma was only a shoddy principle that had arrived from the east along with all the other colorful ideas and interpretations of life. But the pianist did believe in justice.

Offence and retribution—that was his philosophy.

The poor dears would not know what hit them.

Gerasymenko straightened out the last wrinkles that had formed on his flawless black suit before entering the house again. His guests were already waiting for him, all with quizzical expressions on their weary faces. Edward's questioning eyes held an inquiry of their own and something small the professor recognized as hope.

But unlike they'd been expecting, the professor did not renounce his loyalty to the Romanians. He merely excused himself for being away for so long and sat down, grabbing an old-looking but nevertheless unmarked novel from the coffee table.

The guests exchanged baffled looks that somehow bordered on despair.

* * *

Why did he not say anything? Why did he not react?

I'd been so sure the professor would say something. We'd all been absolutely positive that the tables had turned, and that we'd finally won the professor to our side. But instead he'd not even mentioned the betrayal, let alone what he was going to do about it.

What was I supposed to think anymore? It felt as though I was constantly juggling two different emotions in my hands: despair and hope. While one was in my hand the other was in the air, and then they would switch positions, and I would struggle to catch the falling ball…

Suddenly my ears picked up a car engine that was nearing the house at great speed. The wheels were grinding the stony road deafeningly.

Edward reacted by standing up and walking to the window, obviously in deep thought. His elbow rested against the white wall while his hand rubbed his temple, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Gerasymenko observed him cynically, as if he had committed a terrible crime by leaving his seat without excusing himself.

Finally Edward turned around slowly and spoke.

"Professor," he began, "we are on your side. You need merely to tell us what you want and we will do it."

Gerasymenko raised his eyebrows. "I know what lengths you would go for your daughter," he said, "but it is not loyalty I seek. It is revenge."

And in a sudden movement that made both me and Alice jump from our seat, Edward charged forward and banged his fist onto the coffee table, splintering its surface badly.

"We aren't being ridiculous!" he roared, obviously not concerned about the car that was still coming towards the house. "_You_ are the child here! Your eternal talk of honor and respect isn't the talk of an experienced professor, but that of a malicious child! Only a fool would not accept our help if he really wanted to reach his goal!"

"Watch your tongue," Gerasymenko spat out. I looked at both men disbelievingly – what kindergarten was this?

"What's going on, Edward?" I asked, worried that he might have ruined all our chances by screaming at the professor.

Edward's answer was hard and cold. "He doesn't want to let us help him. He thinks it too _humiliating_ to work with a group of children."

My jaw dropped open, and Alice exclaimed: "Children?"

"That's what I thought," Edward added with a sneer. "I don't quite see how you can count us as children."

The professor stood up swiftly, walked to the front door and turned back to us again, a finger pressed against his lips.

"I will tell you why you are children. There are two enemy vampires coming towards this house at this very moment, and you are shouting out things that could get all of us killed! Be silent, please, children, and let the adults handle this."

I barked out a humorless laugh, still staring at Gerasymenko with wide eyes. Alice was shaking her head in disbelief, and Edward was glaring at his teacher with more venom than I'd ever thought he could muster.

But just as I was about to attack Gerasymenko with words of my own, Edward spoke again, this time more calmly.

"I'll do it," he said shortly, leaving the rest of us without a clue as to what he was referring to.

The professor's eyes lit up as he took in his pupil's appearance. A sneer appeared on his thin lips.

"You honestly think you can succeed?" He nearly laughed, but Edward continued to glare at him solemnly, causing Gerasymenko's expression to sober up again. "Very well, if you insist."

"What is it?" I asked for the second time that minute, angry that Edward was leaving me out of something that clearly involved saving my child. I walked over to my husband and forced him to turn his eyes on me. "What are you going to do?"

Edward's stone hard eyes softened a little when they focused on me, but I could still distinguish frosty determination in them that made my dead heart jump.

"The professor believes that I am not capable of playing his most difficult opus on the piano. I will prove him wrong."

I couldn't believe my ears.

"Music?" I screeched, painfully aware of the car that had just halted outside on the front lawn. "Our daughter is in captivity, and all you can think about is _music_?"

I crunched my hands into fists, once again feeling the overwhelming urge to break something. This time Edward's head seemed to call to me as the right target.

Footsteps were on the front porch, nearing the door with exaggerated slowness.

Edward snatched my hands from his shoulder and rested them in his palms. His eyes displayed even more vivaciousness as he tenderly lowered his head to my level. His whisper was barely audible.

"If I can prove to Gerasymenko that I can play that stupid song," he murmured into my ear, "he will not find any other reason to not help us defeat the Romanians."

And before I had any time to react, Edward was on the other side of the room, standing beside the grand piano that seemed to glisten in the meek light.

At the same time the front door opened.

"Good evening, my dear friends," a most abominably familiar voice pronounced. "How nice to see you are all still here."

"Vladimir, Stefan," the professor said. I was shocked by how genuine his tone sounded. "I see you have returned. Why did you not give us any warning? I would have prepared for your arrival."

In a movement that seemed rude even to my eyes, Vladimir set a hand on his ally's shoulder and patted the spot, smiling so atrociously that it was almost a leer.

"We didn't want you to prepare for anything, my friend. We wanted to… well, catch you off-guard."

The professor didn't even flinch, but answered: "Your distrust insults me."

"Oh, it was just a routine check," Stefan said, sounding almost like a police officer in a prime-time police procedural.

The two vampires stepped into the room completely and eyed us perkily. We glared back with intensity.

A spiteful smile was back on the professor's face when he followed after the Romanians, and he turned his eyes to Edward without even trying to hide his amusement.

"Edward here was just about to perform for us." His voice matched his expression perfectly. "He will play one of my own works of art. 'Piano Concerto #2 in C flat Opus Number 23' is, if I may boast, the most challenging composition ever written."

A smile so malicious that it ignited a spark of true fear in me spread across the pianist's face.

"Edward believes that he can master it. Well, I wish you good luck, Mr. Cullen."

I glanced nervously at my husband who, despite the stone hard determination, was looking a little nervous. He sat himself on the black stool that stood in front of the grand piano and slowly lifted the lid. A set of perfect black and white keys came into view. Edward stretched his fingers out before letting his hand glide over the ivories.

The harmony of a flawless scale filled the tight air of the living room. I closed my eyes and crossed my fingers.

The song started leisurely. Edward had no difficulty playing the simple chords and scales, and gradually I started to relax. I tried to listen to the melody, wanting to distinguish the famed excellence of it, but found no pleasing air to it. To my ears the song sounded just like someone had randomly picked out one note after the other and had arranged them in an arbitrary manner.

To my great irritation, the two Romanians didn't seem even slightly interested in the concerto and started talking again after a few minutes. I tried to hold myself back from smacking them – after all, the song didn't hold the same weight for them as it did for us.

"Our preparations are almost done. Have you contacted the rest of your family yet? Well, what a shame… You will have to do that soon, of course…"

"A plane is waiting for us at the airport – do you have any specific whishes as to your dinner? Oh, silly me, of course not…"

Meanwhile the concerto had picked up pace, and I started getting more and more worried with each new complicated-sounding figure. The music itself was starting to sound truly awful; was this what classical music really was? I'd remembered Chopin sounding very different.

"I will have to hunt before we leave… It's a long journey to Europe…" Gerasymenko was talking to his guests, again not betraying any of his anger. But there was something in his voice, something faintly aloof, that suggested that he was concentrating on something much different than the conversation.

The pace of the concerto picked up a notch once more, and I almost winced at the sound of the strange and knotty musical patterns. I glanced at Edward; he was sitting straight-backed and rigid, his fingers gliding over the keys with unbelievable speed and agility. His eyes were glued on the piano.

At some point I realized that I wouldn't be able to tell if he got one note wrong. How could I, when they _all_ sounded wrong to me? I wondered if he would stop if he made a mistake, or if he'd continue, hoping that the professor wouldn't notice. What if he'd already made a mistake, and was now only trying to cover it up?

But as imperfect as the music sounded, it seemed perfect enough for me. Besides, Gerasymenko hadn't reacted in any way so far; surely that was a good thing?

Now the music was too loud and fast for me to hear anything but my own thoughts. The notes danced in the air, twisting and turning and flipping over, and the more solemn lower notes vibrated through the room with the sound waves, shaking the floorboards and stirring the air. I made my first accomplishment of the day by finally finding an actual pattern in the song – it sped up first, slowed down again, and then sped up again…

And as abruptly as a mood swing, the concerto ended. The final three notes hung in the air like cobwebs.

I was too scared to even breathe.

But as the three notes still trembled in the now still air of the room, I glanced at Edward and found the haughtiest expression I'd ever seen on his face. His fingers were still on the keys, pressing them down elegantly. I dared to hope, yet again, that maybe we did have a chance…

And as my eyes shifted to Gerasymenko, a relief so overpowering filled me that a smile spread across my lips. There was no mistaking the humiliation there on his face.

He stood up and began to applaud the new pianist.

* * *

_A/N: I'm so sorry about the long wait (yet again). I hope you haven't forgotten the story! The next chapter will be up sooner than later, all right? :)_


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